


migraine

by ninata



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: (ishimaru's grandfather is also mentioned!), (sayaka is only mentioned but she's pretty relevant so.), Animal Death, Bullying, Freeform, Gen, M/M, Unsanitary warning, emetophobia warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kiyotaka has, and will always be, cold to the bone. || Wildly introspective long piece with no real point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	migraine

**Author's Note:**

> wow, two pieces in one month? im on a roll. not super ishimondo but its in there. i have more pieces im almost done with, but im busy most of the rest of this summer, so. eventually, if anyone still cares about ishimondo in the fall  
> EDIT 4/28/16: changed a bunch of stuff in here because i wasnt happy with it. bleh  
> EDIT 5/9/16: more edits. i hate this piece honestly but i'm trying to salvage it

It’s cold again today.

Kiyotaka’s very cold, and it’s a near constant thing this time of year. November isn’t a good season, but at least it isn’t October, because October is Kiyotaka’s least favorite month.

In counts of one, two, three, Kiyotaka trudges around the grounds of Hope’s Peak. His next class is in the Science building. He takes Advanced Placement Biology and he strives to do his best every day, as he has always done, and will always do until the day he dies. This is probably the only thing he can do, but that’s alright, because it’s a good thing to be able to do, isn’t it?

The scabs around his cuticles feel heavy and itchy. The gloves he wears, the fingers cut off of them, ratty and worn, barely do a thing. His father’s old coat is comfortable, and his blue scarf is the only source of warmth. He carries his bag in his hand tightly, his skin a stark contrast of near white and red blotches.

Today is another day, he thinks. His mind considers many things almost simultaneously. He has to go to the grocery store today. His parents gave him money this morning which is tucked safely in the small cloth wallet he keeps in his jacket’s pocket. His English paper is due next week, and it’s simply a matter of fleshing out his outline. He should pick up more instant coffee; his father drinks it as well, so it’s not a frivolous purchase. It’s not like Kiyotaka could get very far without it.

Coffee is terrible. It tastes terrible. It’s bitter, which Kiyotaka likes, but the whole flavor is too strong in all the wrong ways. It leaves him shaking, but shaking is better than asleep, and sleep is for the weak, as they say! Do they say that? He isn’t sure, but he must have heard it somewhere in the halls.

Santa Shikiba-kun is in his Biology class. He’s always raising his hand, more than Kiyotaka does, even. He must strive to get to his level. Sometimes Kiyotaka wishes he was the Super High School Level Everything, but perhaps that’s unattainable. Talent is a strange concept to him, but it’s wonderful, in a way! All of them, they’ve all worked so hard. Well...most of them. He thinks of Kuwata-kun, who hates baseball. He thinks of Fukawa-kun, who simply picked up a pen and was inherently talented. He thinks of all the natural talent people seem to have, and he feels a little overwhelmed.

He must work hard. He must succeed. He has no other choice, because he either succeeds, or he dies.

Most days he isn’t sure which seems like the more likely outcome.

Coffee is terrible. He sips from a cup from the cafeteria, sitting far away at an empty table. At least, he thinks, at Hope’s Peak, no one is making him eat strange things. No one is knocking his modest bento off the table, and no one is jeering at him, and he isn’t a vast void, a rip within reality itself, a gap between dimensions which even science cannot explain! A dimension we aren’t capable of perceiving; no separate reality, but one that hovers above ours, existing alongside. Kiyotaka remembers emptiness, and some days, it’s just the same, and he has to will himself not to break. It is days like this he drinks mug after mug of coffee and wipes his bleary eyes and stares into his notebook with a cold glare, because if there’s anything Kiyotaka Ishimaru is, it’s cold.

Everyone minds their business in high school. He is endlessly grateful for that.

It is before fifth period when Kiyotaka is yelling again at Mondo Oowada-kun for reckless behavior in the hallway. He’s a little tired. He wants nothing more than to sleep, but sleep is regretfully for the weak, and he sweeps the feeling away under the rug of his mind’s furnishings. Kiyotaka’s mouth runs, words only barely coming out clearly, succinct and punctuated. Oowada-kun is as angry as always, spitting curses and threatening violence, but Kiyotaka is unwavering, a pillar of ethics, and his cold hands are clenched in fists, and Oowada-kun is not scary. Scary is cockroaches and caterpillars, bits of dead rat forced past lips. Scary is the overwhelming stench of dread, like sewage, that pervades his senses whenever he thinks of his grandfather’s debt, and the lack of money, and his mother’s health. Scary is not Oowada-kun, who is another blank face in a sea of blank, blurry faces, and Kiyotaka wonders if he should get his eyes checked.

Oowada-kun is angry, but Kiyotaka doesn’t feel a thing, he hands him a detention slip and his legs carry him away.

Is this what life will always be like?

He’s enthusiastic in Sociology. Social sciences always interested him, always stood out more in his mind than any biology or chemistry. The way people work always fascinated him, even if he never understood. People have always seemed far from him, untouchable and abstruse. Why do they want this? Why don't they want that? Questions have plagued Kiyotaka ever since he was a young boy. Kiyotaka is disgusted with the sexuality of Japan, the horror of it all! Disgusting and superficial and disappointing. The way men and women dance around each other, compensated dating and sex work and too many needless complications. The worldwide obsession with copulation, with the sin of flesh. The sexualization of a woman, an innocent woman! Kiyotaka is full of anger at this idea. He thinks of Maizono-kun, who flinches away from the touch of any of the male students, a product of the idol industry. It doesn’t take too much effort to figure it out.

Sometimes Kiyotaka wonders if this world is worth saving; if a place as corrupt and cruel can be salvaged. There's a hatred, a dense ball of rage that sits in his stomach, and he prays to God it doesn't get bigger. All he can do is hope one day he can help Japan, and he can bring about change, no matter how small. He can only dream of the smile his father will give him, and the pride his parents will feel in their terrible, burdensome son. He'll be seen as a positive force of good and be remembered, just for a bit, more than his grandfather.

In the end of it all, Kiyotaka cannot even hate his grandfather. He can’t. He can’t bring himself to, because that man is still his grandfather. Familial obligation is bred into his blood, and he cares for his family more than himself. His grandfather was in no means a good person, but he still played shogi with him, still cared for him as a child, and the kind old man who smiled sadly was still impossible for Kiyotaka to hate. The Super High School Level Manager. What a wonderful talent to have. It’s a shame it was wasted.

Kiyotaka is cold, and he will always be, he thinks. Even when summer returns, and the sun shines brightly, Kiyotaka will still be cold. It’s the hedgehog’s dilemma. He sees them laugh-- the other students. All so warm and close together. Perhaps they are all normal hogs, not the hedge kind. And Kiyotaka is the only one with spines. They all huddle for warmth, but Kiyotaka is too spiky, and will hurt them if he gets too close. Kiyotaka is by no means a fan of Freud, but he likes the thought.

Naegi-kun is polite, but obviously uncomfortable. Fujisaki-kun is visibly terrified. Asahina-kun is polite, as well, but gets frustrated easily. Hagakure-kun is insufferable, along with Oowada-kun, Kuwata-kun, Togami-kun, and Yamada-kun. Oogami-kun makes him uncomfortable, for he never knows what to say. Enoshima-kun is...something else. Ikusaba-kun and Kirigiri-kun are impossible to talk to. Fukawa-kun is disturbed too easily, and hard to get along with, and rude in general. She also smells! And then…

...Then, there is Maizono-kun.

He admires her, he does. Such a wonderful and hardworking woman! Who does whatever is necessary to achieve her goals! Intelligent, and perceptive! Her ability to mingle with anybody is enviable. The way she talks to the others, the way she tries to include him, despite the others’ trepidation...It’s a kindness he’s never known. But even then, he avoids talking to her-- not out of shyness, nor because he doesn’t appreciate her efforts. Simply because he is a hedgehog, and she is not, and he will poke her to death with his spines, despite how knowing that smile is, and how much warmth she exudes.

Oowada-kun...no matter how horrible he is, Kiyotaka cannot shake the fascination. There’s warmth there, as well-- a different warmth. Oowada-kun is full of the superficiality that Kiyotaka despises. Oowada-kun is innocent and naive. Is that an odd way to describe the Super High School Level Bosozoku? Perhaps. But it’s true, and Kiyotaka cannot deny the dreams he has, waking up sweating, the phantom touch of Oowada-kun’s lips on his. It’s a feeling he can’t describe, and it makes him much too nervous. He’s observed him for so long-- heard them all talk to each other. Kuwata-kun, joking with him. How embarrassed Oowada-kun gets. How much Kiyotaka longs to pick apart those beautiful petals...

He stares at the group, doing things together. He wants. Just a little.

It is now eighth period, and he walks in counts of one, two, three. The school day is almost over. There is an all encompassing feeling of dread, but there always is, and he sits working at his desk in Advanced Calculus.

Is there something wrong with him? He’s wondered for a long time, and he’s afraid he’ll never know. Sometimes, he wonders if he really exists, but that’s a bit of a silly thought. Of course he exists! Doesn’t he? But in what sense? Will he ever leave a lasting mark? Would he be able to live with himself if he never made it? The question from before rings in his ears-- will you succeed, or die? Is existence meaningful if he never redeems his family name? Will he marry some faceless woman and have sexual relations with her and produce a son that will, supposedly, do what he failed to do? Will it continue like that for generations, until the Ishimaru name is forgotten, and it doesn’t matter? You can either succeed, or die. Those are the only options he has, and he must either continue going, or give up entirely.

He doesn’t want to marry. He doesn’t. He knows he must, but he can’t imagine it. Fondness, tenderness, it’s all so far away. He’s not attracted to any women, really. He never has been. It’s all been work, never a thought about romance. Is that...strange? He thinks so. He never thought it was important. Does he want it? He thinks about Maizono-kun. Would he marry her? That’s a strange thought. She seems kind, and he’s interested in her, but...Well, all interactions between a man and a woman are romantic, aren’t they? There’s no other option, is there? Is she interested in him? The idea makes him nauseous. He thinks about Oowada-kun, the smooth curves of his muscles, his unreliable grin. The way his body moves like calligraphy, the way he laughs, his eyes, like lavender. There’s a feeling of dread that hangs around Kiyotaka’s body like fog, and his cuticles still itch, and he doesn’t want to think about it. He cannot even imagine having friends, let alone a lover.

It’s cold, and his jacket is tucked neatly under his seat. His scarf is wrapped inside. His torn up gloves remain on, and the numbers all dance on the page, shifting and shuffling like awkward penguins. Black and white-- Kiyotaka’s entire world is in monochrome. There is no color, no warmth, and he feels eternities away from everyone else, eons and millennia away. Everyone else is so different from him. He can't decide whether he's resentful or not. 

Kiyotaka wishes he could sleep. He could never sleep, even if he had the time to. Too many things in his head, straining at the confines of his skull, banging on the walls and stomping on the nerves. He has too much work, too many responsibilities, too many obligations and promises. He has the utmost confidence that he will succeed, and if he does not, he will die, and the world will reconfigure itself. That's how it works, how things will always be for him. He was never a necessary component. Kiyotaka thinks of the boys who would shove him around in elementary schools, and he wonders how he was ever supposed to think of himself as worthy of kindness.

His whole world is spirals and vomit, and sometimes he thinks he sees little maggots squirming in the bile. He tries not to remember, but it’s hard to forget. Rice is not maggots, and broccoli is not a frog, and red bean paste is not dog feces. He is grateful for that. He remembers the hands that pried his mouth open, and the laughter, and the taunting, and the taste! God, the taste. But he endured, because all he can do is endure, and caterpillars and beetles and road kill and dirt and mashed up slugs will not kill him.

He is so cold! He can almost see his breath. He wonders, with dripping sarcasm, if Oowada-kun would make him eat bugs, too. Even if it's entirely unlikely people will force filth in his mouth in high school, the thought enough is unnerving. He will not let it happen. He wonders if Oowada-kun’s hands are soft.

Why is the world so terribly cruel? It’s a question he’s thought a lot about, and he wonders if humans will become kinder as they evolve. He wants to believe that hatred is primitive, an animalistic quality that'll die out as the species progresses. Maybe he's optimistic, but he aches for something to strive for. Kiyotaka wants a world that will accept him, instead of kicking sand in his eyes and pressing him face down into the muddy grass. It’s possible, that maybe one day, the world will come to a point that people won’t be unnecessarily heartless. Oowada-kun will pat his head, and Maizono-kun will laugh with him, and Naegi-kun will not find him a bother, and Fujisaki-kun will have conversation with him. Perhaps he’ll even get along with the others. Oogami-kun seems nice.

Or...is that even possible?

He’s just a hedgehog, in the end. Perhaps he dreams too big.

He rolls through the rest of his day, tucked into a tight ball. His classes pass uneventfully, and as he reaches the entrance hall, he notices it has begun to snow.

He sighs, knowing the walk back to the train stop will be long. The frigid air is still, unmoving. If he focuses, he can almost feel the world turning beneath his feet, and that there is no up or down, and that he could very well be upside down right now, but as long as his feet are planted firmly on the ground, gravity will keep him there.

He trudges through the grounds of Hope’s Peak in counts of one, two, three. His breath comes out in opaque clouds. Cold, cold, cold...he does not like winter, but winter means October has passed. October 18th has passed then, which is good, because Kiyotaka does not like to remember October 18th. The day after months of decline, his grandfather finally passed, and whispered in Kiyotaka’s ear that the world was full of criminals and felons, and good for nothing shit-eating pricks, and he had to do whatever it took if he wanted to get to the top. And then he died.

Maybe he’ll have some tea when he gets home. Too much coffee is bad for you. He tries not to exceed three cups per day.

When he gets to the parking lot, he sees him-- Oowada-kun. He’s not at detention, which is reprehensible, but he’s on all fours on the ground. He’s obviously looking around for something. The snow sticks in his hair, making his pompadour look all the more ridiculous.

Kiyotaka goes, against his better judgement, over to him.

“What are you doing?”

Oowada-kun looks up, scrunching his red nose. He doesn’t seem pleased to see him. “Lookin’ for somethin’.”

“What is it?”

“None’a your business.”

“I could help.”

“I don’t want yer help.”

Kiyotaka sighs. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. “If you simply let me know what it is, it will go much more quickly, and you will have whatever you lost.”

“Are you like, deaf? I just fuckin’ told you I don’t want yer goddamn help! Piss off.”

He is saddened by this, but he doesn’t let it show. His brow just furrows further than it is already, and he decides it isn’t worth the effort.

He doesn’t know why he tried.

As he turns, and begins to walk away, his foot lands on something hard and bumpy, but small. It doesn’t crunch, and he’s immediately curious.

Lifting up his foot, he squints at the blurry colorful object on the pavement.

He gets down to a crouch, and can now see it’s a little cartoon tiger, standing on its hind legs, looking very angry. It has an open chain attached to it.

He frowns, lifting it up. Could this be what Oowada-kun was looking for? Most likely. It seems within the realm of his nature to own something this ridiculous.

He turns back around, and presents his findings.

“Wh-- Where did you find it?!”

“Just over there.” He points.

“Y-You-- Ugh! Hand it over!”

He complies.

“Dammit...shit.” Oowada-kun sits up, fumbling for his keys. They appear to have many different keychains on them, with little characters hanging from a carabiner. He reattaches it to a ring, sighing. “...Don’t tell no one about this.”

“Do you mean, ‘do not tell anyone’?”

“Don’t be a smartass! Just. K-Keep it on the down low, alright?!”

“Why?”

Oowada-kun sneers. “Is that even a goddamn question?! I got a reputation, dammit! I don’t need people knowin’ I got these keychains!”

“...I don’t think it matters.”

“Matters t’me! Now keep mum!”

“I think they’re cute.” Kiyotaka does not know what compels him to say the next words, but he does. “You’re cute.”

Oowada-kun stares at him for a moment, and then his already flushed face becomes even redder. He struggles for words, before shrieking, “W-WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN!?”

Kiyotaka shrugs, because he doesn’t really know. He just wanted to say it, because perhaps he’s feeling a little selfish today, and wishes Oowada-kun could understand. He curses him out, and Kiyotaka endures it, because it won’t kill him. Words won’t kill him. Words are just words, and that is alright.

When he’s yelled himself out, Oowada-kun hops on his motorcycle, putting the keys in the ignition.

“...You’re weird, Ishimaru. One weird-ass piece of shit.”

Kiyotaka feels insulted by that. He says as much.

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck you, alright!? Guys like you are…”

He trails off, and Kiyotaka can see his profile. His long, hook nose, his thick lips. The curve of his cheekbone, his set chin. The slopes of his neck. Oowada-kun isn’t dressed properly for the weather, Kiyotaka notices.

He decides to change that.

“...What’re you doing?" Kiyotaka unwinds his scarf, and holds it out.

“Take this.”

“W-Why?! What’re you--”

“Just take it. You’re going to catch a cold.”

“What are you, my mom!?”

“Just do it! You need to stop being so irresponsible.”

Oowada-kun’s face remains red, and he pouts, eventually taking it from him.

“...F-Fine. I’ll give it back tomorrow, though.”

“Not until you get your own!”

“I don’t need one!”

“Yes you do!”

“Shaddup, will ya?!” Oowada-kun spits as he jumps on his motorcycle.

“You do not need to miss school, Oowada-kun. Just take the scarf.”

He grumbles, and after a few more words exchanged, he drives off, scarf wrapped around his neck. Kiyotaka watches him disappear into the snow. He shivers, wondering if Oowada-kun will hold that scarf to him tightly. If Oowada-kun will keep it safe, or trample it. If Oowada-kun will return it to him in a little box with a messy ribbon tied around it.

Perhaps he hopes too much.

Kiyotaka looks at the snow that has piled on his boots, and decides it’s time to head to the train station. He needs to go grocery shopping.

His heart beats quietly, a gentle thump that courses up his wrists and through his arms.

And he is cold.

He is so, so cold.


End file.
